The silence of the midnight hour in the Shaw mansion was heavy, broken only by the low-frequency hum of the city’s Defense Matrix and the occasional, distant cry of a Purple-Feathered Heron soaring above the estate’s gardens. Leo Shaw lay back on his imported silk sheets, his eyes tracing the intricate, gold-leaf patterns on the high ceiling of his suite. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, not from the physical exertion of the night’s events, but from the sheer, staggering weight of the potential resting in the palm of his hand.
“Sky-Rending Spear,” he whispered, the syllables feeling sharp and metallic on his tongue. “A name that promises to pierce the firmament itself. If the vision I saw was even ten percent accurate, this isn't just a weapon; it’s a cosmic event.”
He sat
